


ain't saying he's a golddigga

by oonaseckar



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Break Up, F/M, Financial Issues, Gen, M/M, Money, Post-Break Up, Separations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 47
Words: 16,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22772611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oonaseckar/pseuds/oonaseckar
Summary: Offa the kink-meme, onto the archive, once more unto the breach dear friends once more...Charles is broke.  Kurt has (legally) stolen all his wads of cash.  Now he's struggling through a PhD. while working his arse off and with no family support.It's really not the time to fall in love with a charming oblivious rich boy, who wants to take him away from all this...
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	1. money, that's what I want

**Author's Note:**

> Work title is from That Song right? Ole Kanye, currently bonkersing it up with Joel Osteen, wtf.  
> Chapter title is from the song 'Money' covered by multiple artists.
> 
> I started converting it into original fic as Sarah Tender, but wth. It works better like this.

Pepper sat on Charles' desk, equidistant between each end and with her legs crossed perkily, and heard the door of his office click open. It was no surprise to her when a pair of arms reached around her from behind, one hand clutching a bunch of tulips and freesias, and a chin rested on her shoulder. 'Have I mentioned today that I love you more than life, more than the air and the stars, and quite possibly as much as Barney the lab-cat on level 4?' a cultured, almost-English voice inquired.

Pepper laughed, pushed him off, grabbing the flowers as she did so. Dusky pink, lovely. It would clash beautifully with her hair. 'Several times. It doesn't at all alter the fact that organizing your damned charity ball is holding up progress on at least four of Tony Stark's time-sensitive projects. The sap's too soft to say no to you.'

'I know, I know,' Charles wheedled, throwing out placatory hands as she examined her flowers, rubbing one soft petal between finger and thumb. 'But honestly, was I supposed to leave it to Hank? I love the boy like a brother, I trust him with my gel results, my secondary portfolios and my life. But as far as hootenannies go, i wouldn't let him organize a suburban barbecue.'

'Don't worry,' Pepper yawned, stroking his cheek with one finger as she stood up and turned back to the desk. 'With enough flowers and candy - and that make-your-own-airborne-virus manual you promised me - I'll forgive you. And Tony, well, he's putty in your hands. As proven by me being here at all.'

She flicked a finger at three separate piles of paperwork. 'RSVPs. Up-dated catering details and service staff. Entertainment. Everything that's set in stone is programmed into your tablet under the appropriate file.'

That merited one more cuddle, and a kiss on the cheek. 'More hetero every day,' Pepper said fondly. 'Westchester's eligible bachelors will be getting worried you'll escape them.'

But Charles was a little abstracted, flicking through the RSVP pile. Then going through it more slowly, then starting again from the beginning. Finally he stopped altogether, one particular handsomely monogrammed card grasped in his hand.

His face was rather white, Pepper thought. It showed up his freckles beautifully.

'Pepper?' he said, much more quietly than his usual hail-fellow-well-met. Something was clearly wrong, and everything in her stood at attention. There was a problem, and that was what Pepper was for. Even for her boss's best, oldest bud, her job at one remove.

He put a hand to his face, and then pulled it away, pressed his shoulders back from the slump they'd fallen into.

'Pepper,' he tried again. 'Why didn't you tell me you'd invited _Erik Lehnsherr?_ '


	2. working in a goldmine going down down down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going back, going way way back.
> 
> Broke disinherited Charles, working as a waiter in the kind of fancy restaurant that's patronized by rich kid Erik and his friends...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is Lee Dorsey.

PAST DAY

_'Charles and the German guy, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I - ow, get off, it's true anyway, it's true!' Sean rubbed vigorously at where Charles had made a sincere attempt at dead-legging him, but didn't seem to hold much of a grudge. Not judging by the way he followed Charles to the serving station, ignoring the pan-fried turbot he'd been judging to a fine point only seconds before._

_'He has a name, you idiot,' Charles said calmly. 'Check the bookings. And there's been no kissing going on. I think I would have noticed.' He scooped up four plates and turned his back to head out to the tables. But Sean positively sang his response, dangerously loud. Might that be audible out front? Enough for the glass frontage? Logan would flip if he had to replace again._

_'Only because he hasn't made his mo-o-ovve...' Sean trilled sweetly. 'And that's only because you're not giving him enough encouragement. Spill something on him and offer to wipe him down in the back, why don't you? It'll be thirty seconds before he has you down on the tiles and he's grappling to get your shorts off. The rest of us need some vicarious kicks! I haven't got a sniff or a feel for two months!'_

Sure, Sean, _Charles thought, as he struggled through the kitchen doors and managed to keep a reduced raspberry coulis from swirling and marring Sean's pretty patterns on four plates. How about I keep a casual fling going, along with two and a half jobs and supporting my sister and trying to fight a legal battle against my own family – my own_ mother _– just to give you some horny x-rated entertainment?_

_Thinking it brought him right up to the table where German guy – goddamnit, Lehnsherr – was ostentatiously not watching him shimmy over. But Lehnsherr's ears were red. And his conversation with his floppy-haired, thin, perma-grinning friend was just too enthusiastic to be unself-conscious. Charles' admirer wasn't doing the casually uninterested thing too well. But he was certainly beautiful enough to make up for it._

_Maybe Charles could fit in some extra-curricular activity after all._


	3. the very rich are different from you and me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit of fun, flirting with a customer. Charles oughtta be more careful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is Hemingway, allegedly.

_But he had other things to occupy his mind as he set out the starter. It was quite disconcerting to be watched attentively, unblinkingly, not just by Lehnsherr, but by all his glossy crowd of rich-kid friends. (He wondered if he'd looked that way himself – invulnerable, blessed, charmed, infuriating – back when he would have qualified as one of them. No doubt. Probably waitstaff had resented him, too.)_

_Of course, guests were always attentive when you dished up. But they were usually looking at the food. These guys, their attention was trained on him so precisely, it was obvious that he would be the main topic of conversation as soon as his ass was back in the kitchens. Actually, his ass would probably come up first._

_It wasn't unflattering. It was just a little unnerving. 'Is there anything else I can get you to accompany your entrees, ladies and gentlemen?' he inquired, face a mask as he fought to keep his walls up. He had a strong feeling it would be better not to know what this bunch were thinking, as they grinned and nudged each other – nudged Lehnsherr, if they were near enough._

_'That depends what's on the menu,' the grinning guy said, leaning heavily on Lehnsherr's shoulder, as his bud stared down at his hands. 'Do you have any personal recommendations? I know Erik here,' he said, mangling affectionately at the guy's ear, 'really appreciates your personal service. Or would like to.'_

_'Seb, for God's sake,' Lehnsherr muttered, and shoved him off with vim. He just barely managed to meet Charles' eye, briefly. 'Ah, no thank you, we're good. Thank you so much, though. And, uh, apologies for my friend. We can't take him anywhere.'_


	4. we are all queer fish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regular blue-collar Joe, that's Charles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is Scott Fitzgerald, 'The Rich Boy'.

_Charles smiled sweetly, to more blushes, and managed to make it over to the next table with a straight face. Just barely. As he shouldered the kitchen gates he was grinning: a fact that the head chef (and owner) Logan didn't fail to pick up on._

_'What's so damn funny, Xavier,' he growled. 'I wish I was laughing: Sean, take over the plating, I'm going to have to do the vegetables for you or we'll never get all the tables covered.'_

_Sean meekly – and swiftly – stepped out of the way, as Logan lifted one meaty hand – and swung it down with a sweep of blades slicing through carrot and human flesh. The noise was piercing, terrifying and exquisite. Although, by and large, mostly terrifying, Charles thought. Even though he had personal reason to know Logan was really a harmless, affectionate good guy. If you stayed on his good side._

_Charles rubbed his head: his shields were failing with the sheer force of his fatigue, and a headache was beginning to pound through his temples. He'd been ignoring it until now: refusing to admit its existence. 'Nothing's funny, Logan,' he sighed. 'Two more on the turbot for table six. It's the sniffy guy who sent the soup back last week: he'll probably try for another refund. God knows he was trying it on last time.'_

_Logan diced and sliced and gestured with the blades of his hand, and they sang high like bells as they cut through the air. 'Okay kid. Cheer up anyway, at least you've got reason to smile. Both your jobs suck, your family hate you and adequate funds are a distant memory. On the other hand, you have a guaranteed lay out there with your name on it, and he has a bankroll as tall as the Chrysler building. Get some for the rest of us! Make him buy you something pretty afterwards!' he grunted._

_Oh Christ. Even Logan had heard._


	5. people who were kind enough to serve things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeeveryone wants Charles to get down with nice rich boy Erik. Whyyyyyyyyyy? Why can't they just leave well alone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Tom Hiddlestone, excerpted from his more extensive comments on the kind of arrogant narcissistic twunt who's rude to waitstaff.

_'You want to hear the verdict? From the collective eavesdrop that Janos has been collating?' Sean asked, as he headed back in from a chat with Janos at the front desk._

_'I expect I'm going to anyway,' Charles said, with foreboding._

_'So, the unanimous verdict per table-Lehnsherr is that you've got the cutest little tushie going on this side of Catwalk Confidential, and that Erik – he's Erik, not just Lehnsherr now, note, we're on first name terms whether he knows it or not – would be a fool not to snap that right up.'_

_Charles dropped frosted cherries on the mango sorbets. 'I'm pretty sure no-one on that table used the word 'tushie'. Insofar as it's actually a word.'_

_'Okay, I was embroidering a little,' Sean conceded. 'But the general gist, them's the facts. The smooth brunette was particularly enthusiastic. Which is tragic, because I like to think I'd be in with a chance. And, despite a lot of mumbling and blushing and saying 'Shut up' every ten seconds, the important point is that at no point did he ever argue the main issue. To wit, he has the hots. Jeez, man, go and get it. Did you see what he's driving? It's a fuckin' Veyron. Not the classic Jag or the Lexus he usually turns up in. A Veyron. I don't care if it's hired. I couldn't hire that beast on my entire annual salary. For ten years. And to be strictly brutal, man, considering you're looking a little rough and not quite your usual blue-eyed winsome self lately, he must really have it bad.'_


	6. no man is rich enough to buy back his past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik makes his move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is Oscar Wilde.

_The sweet musicality of Sean's Irish accent softened the blow a bit. Just a bit. But then, Charles shrugged,_ he _was the one with the trust-fund baby admirer, so he couldn't have lost his youthful charms altogether. Not yet anyway: it was just a matter of time before this life dragged him down._

_xxx_

_Charles had to finish up, balance the register and lock up, after Sean had helped with clean-up, since Logan had already gone home to 'get some' himself. When he finally set the alarm and put the keys in his pocket, he leaned against the back entrance for a moment. It wasn't really a pause for thought. He was just so fucking tired._

_He had his forehead against the shiny green paint, and his nose was squashed up against the wood. The step behind him made him jump a fucking mile. Mugged, or raped, or murdered, which was it going to be tonight? Because honestly, that last might be not so bad - oh. As he swiveled on a point he saw: it was Lehnsherr. Lehnsherr stalking him, evidently. And looking extremely sheepish and embarrassed about it. It sat oddly on his handsome angular face, that seemed more suited to sneers and leers than twitchy apologetic angst._

_'I'm not stalking you! I promise,' Lehnsherr said rapidly, and his serious blue-green stare was slightly apologetic. It wasn't terribly convincing._

_'Except in the ways you actually are?' Charles said mildly, and moved closer. 'How long have you been out here?'_

_That was a totally shifty expression. 'Ah, not very long, I just wanted to ask you...'_

_'Since you left,' Charles diagnosed, grinning. 'That's what, three hours?' He caught the gleam of a motor at the corner of the alley. 'In your car. You couldn't just leave a note at the desk?'_

_'That did occur to me,' Erik admitted._

_'But?'_


	7. not so secret admirer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik makes his move. Charles is vastly amused.

_"But it occurred to me about ten minutes ago. Anyway, face to face, much better?' He smiled slightly, face easing a bit, presumably at the lack of Charles screaming or calling 911, or whatever the Canadian equivalent was. Eighteen months in Winnipeg: he really ought to be able to remember by now. It might be important sometime._

_'Look, would you like to go get a coffee?' Erik asked. 'I'd say sometime, but we could probably find somewhere open now if we really looked?' The pause hung. 'Okay, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done this,'_ _Lehnsherr said, eyes down, mouth twisted. 'I won't bother you like this again.' He turned, but Charles tapped him in the leg with the tip of his toe._

_'Hang on.' Charles thought. It was mostly about the wretched little studio apartment waiting for him at the end of a ten minute walk. 'Do you have a power shower?' It was a very important question. Lehnsherr looked like someone had just poleaxed him. 'Come on, man, it's a simple question. Where are you staying, and what kind of shower does it have?' Charles waited._

_Lehnsherr evidently decided to go with it. 'Uh... yes. We've hired a house for the summer. It has a... no, three power showers. Not including ensuites. All the usual bells and whistles.'_

_Not so very usual, Charles thought. Not with **his** landlord, and a shower that only dribbled out decently hot water when there wasn't an r in the month. 'What about your sheets. Threadcount?' Lehnsherr was looking slightly alarmed. In a good way, a way that suggested _dammit, has this worked? am i on a promise here? DON'T SAY THE WRONG THING, _his face screamed out loud. It seemed like his vocal cords were frozen, and Charles let it slide._


	8. so I said I'll see you later and I give her some old chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'll get further if I'm dragged" - quote from an obscure Joan Aiken novel. Charles takes charge, 'cause they're gonna be here all night otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from 'Cool For Cats', Squeeze.

_'Important point,' Charles continued, leaning up so that his face was tilted, close to Lehnsherr's, questioning. 'Bunny in the headlights' was his gentleman caller's expression of choice today._ _'Would you be in the habit of kicking people out of bed and into the cold harsh world, immediately you're done praising the Lord and quivering?' There was a pause. He waited, but Lehnsherr was evidently still struck dumb by something heavy, and not getting it. 'After the **shagging** , I mean. Because in that case I might as well just go home,' he elaborated._

_That got through. Which was a relief: he didn't make a habit of bedding people who had an I.Q. handicap in three figures between him and them._

_To his credit Lehnsherr looked appalled. 'Of course not – I would never!' Then he shut up abruptly, and looked slightly guilty and furtive. Charles took that to mean that in fact he would, and had before now – with some other_ inamorato _, or multiple such. Well. Just as long as it wasn't_ Charles _on the receiving end. What he wouldn't do for a real soak under a fierce jet. And a night on an actual_ bed _instead of a mattress, with a landlord avoiding his calls about the broken bedframe he hadn't been warned about on signing the lease. An aesthetically pleasing companion, and getting serviced like he'd forgotten how, at this point, that was just a bonus. He gave Lehnsherr a discreet skim, up and down. It wasn't like it'd be any_ hardship _._

_Charles had very few inhibitions when so tired. 'Okay then, forget the coffee.' He pulled closer, accelerating whatever was going on here. Let them get to the good stuff, they'd done enough dancing around. 'Let's go to your place and do it till we're raw and then introduce ourselves properly.' He thought that over, and realized he might be over-promising and under-delivering. 'Or maybe not. Just so you know, I'm pretty exhausted. The most we might be talking about is a quick handjob before I pass out.' He scrutinized Lehnsherr's response carefully, for resentment or entitlement. But then, in this state he couldn't manage much in the way of shielding either. The other guy's happy yelping 'Yes!'s were bouncing off him rather like a puppy. Charles knew puppy emotions and thoughts: the mansion had been packed with dogs. Mother's lhasa apsos, the hounds, Kurt's whipped little Jack Russell, the head groundskeeper's beagle, the watchdogs on the gates and perimeters... These were thoughts that led to no good mood, and he shut them down._


	9. true romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's a start. A little pragmatic and functional, perhaps.

_But still, Erik could clearly hardly physically contain himself, back and forth on the pavement, standing on pins and pulling in sharp sucky breaths. He nodded, and speech seemed a bit beyond him._

_And..._

_He nodded himself, and Erik mirrored him slightly, possibly because he didn't seem to be sure if he was looking at Charles' chin, eyes or freckles. 'Final thing. Would you make me breakfast in the morning?'_

_Lehsherr inhaled, and smiled vigorously, looking immensely pleased. 'Totally. I absolutely would. Will. I will make you pancakes and bacon and-' There was promise and enthusiasm in his voice. It boded well._

_'Fine, whatever,' Charles interrupted, and took a gentle but no-messing hold of his tie to guide him. 'Just as long as I don't have to make it myself, you can burn poptarts for all I care. Let's be off, my friend.'_

_He fell asleep on the ride to Lehnsherr's place. But then, the ride wasn't the crucial part of the bargain. Not that one, anyway._


	10. Erik: present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik, here and now. It's not like _he's_ forgotten, either.

Erik examined the invitation, one more in a series, one more charity ball. But for some reason Ororo had thought this one was worth looking at. Ororo wasn't often wrong, but he couldn't see the reason for this one offhand. Research into genetically transmitted diseases. Funded by X-Chem, a listed company they'd never had dealings with. CEO, Cain Marko. He'd met the guy once or twice: an entitled, over-privileged asshole. Like so many. Like himself, according to some. So he buzzed through.

'Darling,' he said pleasantly. 'X-Chem. Explain it to me.' Ororo would need no more: all details at her fingertips. But it wasn't her voice that responded to him, but his old buddy's.

'Just been talking to O, man,' Seb Shaw said, voice rolling smooth and amused. 'She says you're going, and there's no _ifs_ , _ands_ or _buts_ about it. Wouldn't try arguing with her if I were you. She's letting me through to the charmed inner circle now, see you in a few.' He cut out, and Erik sighed. It was always good to see Seb. Just that sometimes he had to remind himself of that.

When Seb was ensconced in his office, pouring coffee for them, and one for Ororo too, excusing himself to take it through to her, Erik felt more resigned. There was indeed something pleasant about seeing Seb's pleasantly smug face, as he came back in and settled opposite, warming his hands on his cup.

'If Ororo's given you all the gen, then, Seb, I won't bother her further,' he said. ' _You_ explain it to me.'

Seb grinned at him. 'Apparently it's a pet charity of your father's: he used to donate every so often, on the basis that they were involved in genetic research way back when, but fighting the eugenicists who were trying to use clean research for questionable purposes. Ororo's stepped up the donations lately, what with Lehnco doing its best to take over the world.' He laughed at Erik's disapproval: 'Don't try to pretend it was _your_ decision: O doesn't just rule the weather, she's the boss of you too. We all know it. Anyhow, they've apparently noticed your _largesse_ , and decided you merit VVIP invites from now on. And O thinks you should go, which means you're going.' He lounged back in his chair and gave it a few swivels. 'Why argue, man. You are so whipped you might as well marry her. If you were that way inclined, for more than about fifteen per cent of the time.'


	11. "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik is probably a Fitzgerald man. You might jump to the conclusion that he'd be a Hemingway guy, and Charles all about Fitzgerald. 
> 
> But I think it's the other way around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from The Great Gatsby.

Erik knew it was true, but it didn't stop his rebellious sigh. "I'm rich as Croesus and not thirty-five yet: how come I'm afraid to say no to my fucking PA?" he asked, just a touch pathetically.

Seb gurgled: "Welcome to the club. God knows Em's only VP, but I have to back myself up, chapter and verse, before I dare go up against her. But I'm hetero, man, at least I have some excuse for a touch of masochistic fascination." He reached up and took hold of the photograph that stood on Erik's desk, stood himself and held it against the light. "Anyway: it was one of your Dad's pet causes. You're going, right?"

Erik downed half his coffee, almost strong enough for comfort. "I suppose I'd better. Stag, though. I can't face finding someone to go with."

"Oh, man," Seb said protestingly. "Come on. That's not on. You can't do that. It's _disrespectful_."

Erik didn't want to hear it. "Why not? Fuck it, I'll attend. I'm not scrounging around for a date, though. There is a limit, and that's it. If Ororo kicks off about it, she can hire me an escort herself. Or go with me, and I don't think she'll be volunteering, somehow."

Seb's face was soberly disapproving, for once. He reached up to put his coffee cup on the desk, and managed to knock a few sheets off the stack of papers precariously balanced on the edge. Reaching down, he apologized. "Sorry, man, here you go – oh – hm – what do we have here?"

And Erik reached to swipe them from his hand, but too late. Too late, always much too late with Seb.

Report prints, contract drafts, legislative notes, advisor research. So much ho-hum. And the photograph he occasionally – rarely, so goddamn seldom these days – pulled out of the bottom drawer. Just for a quick last look, before he slammed it back in and cursed himself.

"Oh man," Seb said, and whistled, rather pityingly. "And here I was thinking you were over all this, long ago." He let the photo hang from finger and thumb, swinging it in the breeze. Such an old, old, photo now, from when Erik was so, so young. Charles, and him, together and so young, at the beach house. Laughing like they'd never stop, like love couldn't die.


	12. wait a minute, Doc.  are you telling me you built a time machine...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the past, like a magnet. For a metallokinetic, not so surprising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Back to the Future.

_ERIK: PAST_

_Twenty minutes for a shower? God almighty. Erik was a patient man – well, strictly, he very rarely had to wait for anything, so he hadn't had much opportunity to put that hypothesis to the test. But he thought he was probably a reasonably patient man. When necessary._

_Twenty minutes? He lay back from where he'd been sitting on the edge of the bed – yes, on the edge of his seat, waiting, almost drooling. And he sighed massively._

_Getting just what you wanted was fantastic. Getting it_ right now _would be even better._

_Of course, he could always just go join Charles in the shower. (Charles: since however he'd joked around, making his eye-poppingly casual proposition, Erik didn't really need an introduction. He'd long since squeezed every other member of staff at Howlett's for every bit of information he could reasonably angle for, without looking like a creepy creeper. And then all the rest of it they were willing to give up, too. Possibly he'd been a bit of a failure at subtlety.)_

_He had a feeling Charles wouldn't really mind. Perhaps even expected it. Was wondering where the hell he'd got to, and what exactly it took to get a hint through his thick head._

_Erik struck his forehead._ Of course _that had been what Charles had meant. He yanked himself up off the bed almost fast enough to pull something, and would have stood. Except that was the moment that the ensuite door was thrown open, and Charles stepped out, a huge smile on his face, and a towel round his waist._

 _Erik felt a little faint, and lay back down. 'That's right,' Charles said agreeably, nodding at him. 'You get comfortable. Your shower is_ amazing _, by the way. I thought it was going to take my nipples off.' Steam was still issuing from the bathroom door, and though clearly dried, the guy was still moist from the dampness of the air. Everywhere. Or presumably everywhere, although for some reason he'd chosen a handtowel instead of the bath sheets hung out, and it covered precious little._

_'Okay,' Erik said cautiously, feeling a little uncomfortable. The best seat in the house might be a little too good for his fly to cope with. Erik watched Charles as he took a turn about the room, stretching to smooth out his wet hair and straining the towel across his ass. He was more muscled than Erik had expected, and thought about. Carefully pondered, and maybe touched up some mental images. But still delicately so, five inches down from Erik's height, a pocket Apollo. Limbs real and solid and luminously white-skinned, 3-D as anything, a faint guide-path of dark fuzz leading the eye down to the hillock of his crotch, beneath a towel that was going to give up the ghost and dive for the floor any second._

_The freckles were_ insane _along the white line of his shoulders. Erik hadn't even_ known _he had a thing for them._


	13. getting to know you, getting to know all about you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well well, so Erik's stalkery courtship has come to fruition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is Mary Poppins.

_Considering how long he'd been harboring fantasies rather similar to this reality, it was hard to believe it wasn't some wish-fulfilling dream. If it had been, though, it surely wouldn't have occurred to him to be embarrassed by the room. It was a touch girly, with delicate dark wood antique furniture. (And Mamma would have known exactly what, but fuck it, he was a young guy with other interests. Especially right now.) Unfortunately Erik had lost every coin toss choosing a room, even though he was shelling out a full half of the rent, and that was when the others remembered to dib in their share. Still, the rest of the guys were happy, and... His mind wandered, largely as Charles strolled over, pulled off the towel and climbed onto the bed, straddling him where he lay. His mind went on the fritz immediately: he was positive he could hear an electric crackling between them. Maybe it was his metallic powers, shorting out every wire in the building._

_He panted lightly as Charles leaned in close, a palm resting either side of his head putting him in the shade. 'Well... hello,' Charles said simply. 'Charles Xavier. Awfully pleased.' His face was solemn and amused. Erik didn't at all know how to take him, but at least knew that much._

_He managed a laugh. 'I do know your name.'_

_Charles rolled his eyes and let his head hang down enough to brush his eyelashes against Erik's cheek. 'And I know you're E.,_ Erik _Lehnsherr, who always calls to book table five, and isn't at all happy with a window table. And is very put out with Sean getting the giggles when he delivers the Specials spiel. And asked Janos if I couldn't come explain the wine list on your second visit, and translate every exotic dessert on your fourth. So,_ Mr _Lehnsherr...'_

 _Erik swallowed a laugh. 'My god, really? At this point I'm pretty sure it's Erik.' It couldn't have been funnier: the guy's shiksa cock, thick and a little hard, and a bit surprising considering his stature – not that he'd been staring,_ much _\- was brushing against his thigh, and they weren't yet fully acquainted. 'This is so much not what I intended.'_

_'What did you have in mind?' Charles' voice came from the crook of his shoulder, now, where he appeared to be sniffing at Erik's aftershave. Erik hardened up – God knows, it had been threatening for a while now – and his body rippled up in a wave, quite without warning or control. 'What would you like to do?'_


	14. a most galant and courtly knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik WOULD JUST LIKE TO BE ON A DATE, ALRIGHT? A nice restaurant! Flowers! Is that so much to ask?

_Erik flung a hand up above his head, hesitating towards reaching out for Charles' hair. ''In mind? Well, at least a couple of weeks of, uh, getting to know each other.' His fingers flexed and he pushed them through damp, curling locks. He'd wanted to say courtship. But if he'd said anything about courting with this guy, he had a feeling, he might as well profess a fondness for reading Mamma's pink-jacketed romances and whip out an engagement ring. 'And I'd like to do... anything you'd like to do.'_

_'Well, I'd like you to be naked too,' Charles said softly, muffled, then lifted his head to peer once more into Erik's eyes. 'Naked would be good for anything we'd like to do.' Shocking, the blue: like floating in a pure clean sea. This was what pulled him in, from the first time Moira had randomly dragged them into the restaurant weeks ago, claiming blistered feet and a refusal to peruse the tourist guide one more minute._

_Naked: he let his hand float down touching nothing but air, but then glided it up over Charles' ass, coccyx, let it bump and jump and stutter over vertebrae and shoulder-blade. Charles skin was light and white and smooth, his musculature hard but too easy to trace, insufficient fat to cover it._

_Charles was tugging at his shoulders, pulling away in an unreasonable withdrawal of warmth, and Erik protested but Charles was authoritative. 'No, up you come, up the bed.' Erik dug his fingers into Charles' ass to keep him still, keep him close. But after a tussle he surrendered, and in an ungraceful jumble they levered and jerked till Erik was fully lying, still fully clothed, on the bed. Charles still crouching over him, still naked and now shivering a little._

_'Better,' Charles said, and shivered out a laugh. 'Better.'_

_'You're cold,' Erik said, concerned, reaching out to grab at the coverlet, but Charles shoved him down with slightly surprising – slightly vigorous – fiendishly_ hot _strength._

_He rather effortfully prevented himself from saying, 'Do that again.' And maybe, 'You can slap me around a little if you like too.' Maybe later. His attention was sucked away by Charles' hand on his buckle – very fast and smooth and there it was, hanging loose and open. (How could innocent words be so dirty?) And then short strong fingers nimble on his fly, and Erik was unable to even co-operate beyond lunging up with his hips, no more co-ordinated than a rutting silverback._


	15. Chapter 15

_A little moan escaped him when Charles jerked his hands away – I'll be good, he wanted to say. I'll be good, I won't do that again. But it was only to push Erik's shoulders down into a soft, soft mattress, and lean in close. There was something fruity on his breath and his skin had a liquid clarity that rendered those freckles ridiculous. And countably addictive. He could develop OCD over them, easily, quite easily, but then Charles was kissing him and he'd have to get back to the freckles later._

_He didn't like the kiss exactly, which would have surprised anyone watching what with the moaning and the further lunging upwards, but there was something rote and thorough in it, as if Charles had taken a manual for the perfect kiss and was busy ticking all the boxes. Maybe he had written the manual. He was judging breath to get them synced and suctioned perfectly, skin heating up, blood-flow pulsing. In that way that got their pulses synchronizing and speeding up, their cocks arhythmically then rhythmically jerking against each other. And dammit why was he still completely covered? How unnecessary clothes were._

_Charles pulled himself up roughly and lunged over to the bedside stand, pulling open a drawer and shuffling through without ceremony. 'In here?' he asked. 'Where d'you keep everything? Come on, let's not play hide and seek...'_

_But Erik wasn't listening: busier letting his hand stray around the circumference of Charles' thigh, pushing up with a knuckle into the sack of his balls then walking his fingers up to slide and fondle over his dick. A pleased, smug smile split his face apart, as he heard Charles catch his breath and swear, and he rubbed, gripped on hard, harder, then just a hint of slide and glide and pressure._

_Charles threw a tube of KY on the bed, grunting rather triumphantly, then there was a pause and a quiet snigger. 'Really? This?' Erik squinted at what he was holding, swore and grabbed at it, throwing the handful away from them onto the carpet. 'I'd like to establish that all novelty condoms in this house are Az's responsibility, and if he's been bringing his latest score to my room then there's going to be hell to pay.' There was an odd little silence, and Charles twisted in his grip, eyes bright enough to be their own illumination. Considering him thoughtfully, looking down. His own voice echoed back to him, and he wondered if Charles was thinking unfortunate things about scores and conquests and casual fucks, but then Charles found something more suitable, cracked it open and all thinking was off the table._


	16. Chapter 16

_He went to undo his own fly – he wasn't a nervous virgin who needed undressing, for god's sake – however he was feeling – but Charles swatted his hands away. 'No, let me.' It was accompanied with a saucy smile that wasn't one bit the sweet dreaming daze he'd thought of, half-expected from vivid imaginings. Charles was slower than with his belt, almost ceremonial: 'It's not a grand opening,' Erik tried to joke, aware he was about half-hard and not knowing whether to feel more awkward about not being fully erect or over-eager._ Nervous _, Lehnsherr? Adrenalin zinged through his veins like someone had injected him with Howlett's famous espresso._

_'Are you sure?' Charles said cheerfully, and then eased him out of his briefs. A simple, 'Crikey,' was all that followed, in that singular must-be-British-but-really? accent._

_'Is that it?' he joked awkwardly. God knew he'd had all kinds of reactions, from humming of movie theme tunes (Star Wars, Free Willy, Godzilla) to one girl who fled the room claiming vaginismus and panic attacks._

_'Sure you've heard it all before,' Charles said breezily, smiling. He took Erik's cock in hand and with a matter-of-factness that really should have been off-putting, took a couple of seconds to work him up to condom-on-banana point. 'Let's get you appropriately dressed.' Pinch and roll, and Charles leant down further as accuracy became less of an issue. Settling the rubber on with a last friendly squeeze, he leaned down, knees akimbo either side of Erik's torso, and whispered in his ear. 'Want to get me ready?'_

Want to buy you dinner and ask about your childhood dreams and secret ambitions, really. At least first, _Erik thought rather helplessly. But he was helpless in more ways than one, so hard he was almost sore, trapped between Charles' elbows and knees as he scrabbled for the lube with an unseeing hand. Even after a shower there was a trace of the kitchens on Charles' hair and skin: too many hours amidst air scented with frying food and vegetable peelings. And if that was turning him on then he was officially a freak._


	17. Chapter 17

_None of this was quite what he wanted: but it wasn't as if he didn't want it, just the same. Slicking up his fingers and reaching around, he slicked up Charles' ass as Charles pressed warmer and closer. He couldn't see, but he could surely feel, and pressing in, adding more lube, pressing in that little bit further, every gasp and slow writhe of Charles, elbow-supported and just barely not collapsed on top of him, was a kind of torture._

_Charles gave a long shuddery breath and reached back, pressed on his arm. 'Enough.'_

_'Are you sure?' Erik asked softly. 'Let me..'_

_'No, Enough.' Charles raised himself up on his knees, edged himself backwards a little and took hold of Erik's dick, catching his eye. But Erik detected a micro-sigh, and a quiver in his thighs that seemed to express purest fatigue. And his own eye was shadowed, far too much so, and his smile too practised and a sight too faked: there were always, lately, black shadows under Charles' eyes. Not making him less lovely, but more delicate every time Erik saw him. Closer to breakable, he'd thought earlier tonight at the restaurant, and his throat had closed up at the thought._

_He wondered what was driving the guy, what load he was carrying: but mostly he wanted to help lift it. No, mostly he wanted to fuck him, as of right now, but afterwards... To see if he tasted like candy in the places it looked like he would... mouth, eyes, lids, freckles, arms, nipples, cock..._

_But for him to rest, too. And with a grip of the arm and nudging, locking of legs, he twisted them into a reversal of position. Charles laid up, Erik twisted and sprawled on top of him, both of them gasping a little. 'What?' Charles said incoherently, and Erik laughed._

_'You're tired,' he answered. 'Just lie down. Lie down and roll over.'_

_Then it was all easy, crazy easy, as Charles shrugged and went along and Erik eased him open and eased inside. Much handier if the guy hadn't thought it funny to start talking like they were back in the damn restaurant, though. 'Would you like to take a look at our specials?' A little further in, a little tighter and hotter and more perfectly intolerable, and, 'I can recommend – uh, ow, slow down a moment – I can recommend the dish of the day, ah fuck, okay, yes, there,' and it just went on and on until..._


	18. Chapter 18

_Until Erik rested his arms on Charles' shoulders, pressing him down, and set up an easy rhythm. Lowered his head and whispered in his ear, 'Shut up. We're not there any more: I'm not a customer, you're not a waiter, it's just you and me. You and me.' He grazed his teeth against the soft flesh between shoulder and neck, caught teeth against teeth just enough to threaten, quietened him down, started to guide them where they were going. Groping down, he reached a hand under Charles' belly, searching for his cock, but was pushed away for his pains._

**_CHARLES: PAST_ **

_The house was dark except for a couple of bedroom lights, when Erik quietly let them in. He hesitated in the entrance hall, as Charles stretched and struggled for full wakefulness. 'I think I can hear someone in the kitchen,' he said, nodding towards the shadowy rear of the immense tiled hall. Once mentioned, Charles could detect dim clinking and a low mutter from that direction. 'Do you want to get, uh, tea, or a drink or something?'_

_Charles didn't, just wanted a) a shower, a SHOWER, b) a proper bed (maybe queen-sized? Maybe silk sheets? Water bed? His anticipation was building.) And c) a quick romp would be quite nice. It had been a long time after all. But he guessed the enquiry was coded: short for 'I'm not ashamed of you or embarrassed, if you want I'm quite happy to parade you through my friend's bedrooms and wake up every one of them. Although I would very much rather just go straight upstairs and rip your cute little slacks and uniform vest off.'_

_It sounded good to Charles._

_The bed was wonderful. That was most of what he remembered about his first night with Erik. The shower was magnificent and had the force of a waterfall, the sheet threadcount was epic, everything was soft and warm and clean and plush. The kind of clean you couldn't maintain under your own steam working two plus jobs. He was so tired of feeling_ grimy _. And after a quick efficient shag and a perfectly adequate orgasm, he had never slept so blissfully in his life. He couldn't maintain his shields perfectly as he sank into sleep like a brick, but all of Erik's thoughts were soft and warm too, as welcoming and comforting as the luxurious queen-sized mattress._

_He did like Erik, though. Not just all the benefits that came with showing him a little personal service._

_And it was wonderful to sink into Lethe with the thought of a day off the next day. on top of everything else. He wasn't meeting raven till late. No worries, no worries._


	19. Chapter 19

_No worries until he actually woke, lips dried on the pillow and gummy-eyed. Pink and warm and a little tender. with that warm fluey feeling of oversleep. A disoriented moment was only that. Erik. he'd gone home with Erik: well, it had been about time. He heaved himself over to say a pleasant good morning and maybe share morning breath. But no, he was master of a vast expanse of linen, and quite alone. Maybe the guy was cooking his breakfast. That would be pleasant, too. Charles rubbed his face, scratched his scalp, wondered how he'd looked to Erik while out cold. Flushed, open-mouthed and snoring quietly, no doubt. Never mind. He could exult still over the prospect of the day ahead, a gift of time. Of course, couldn't lounge around too long. Not with Raven visiting. He leaned over the bed to feel around in his pockets for his phone and check the time. It was a nasty jar to realize just how late he'd slept. Not that he was late: yet. Forty minutes. he had forty minutes, to get up, shower, eat and get himself to the station to meet his sis, for the first time he'd seen her in six months. That ruled out the eating and showering part. Sweet sweet fuck in a bucket, he announced to an empty room, and leapt into action._


	20. Chapter 20

_He was dressed, grimy as fuck - well, yes - and downstairs in five, and skated quickly into what he guessed was the kitchen, looking for, well who. But it wasn't Erik he found in there. Instead it was his long-haired grinning pal, and the girl with the wings, sitting at the island and tinkering with some egg and salad thing, drinking coffee. They all stared at each other a moment, then Charles thought to smile, and this guy at the same time. 'What a surprise' he drawled. 'Not. Not really.'_

_'No, I suppose not,' Charles agreed. 'I'd love to chat, but I have to move. Is Erik around?_

_'Sorry,' said the pretty dark-haired girl, flicking him an amused glance then looking back down at her eggs. Her furled wings flexed and unfurled a little. Stretching, pretty and delicate. 'He's popped out for some bacon and, what was it, Seb? I think pancake mix: apparently the one we had wasn't the_ right _one. Oh, and poptarts too. I'm sure he said poptarts. God knows what that's about. He seemed, ah, kind of hyper. About getting it right. You must be pretty picky, right? Working in a restaurant?'_

_Charles just stood there, flummoxed for the minute. 'Not so's you'd notice. I just serve it up: can't say I'm that interested. Toast would have been fine.'_

_'Too late for that,' Seb observed, sliding his own plate away. 'Though I can rustle that up for you if you're hungry now?'_

_'Oh. No,' Charles said, talking slow, thinking fast. 'Actually I have to get going. Right now. Can you thank Erik for me, and say to him, ah, I'm sure the poptarts would have been amazing?' Taxi, he thought. Fuck it, it wasn't as if he could really afford it, but he had a couple of firm's numbers programmed into his phone, and he utterly_ refused _to be late meeting Raven. Unless he could possibly ask one of these guys for a lift? Maybe it would be cheeky, but God knew they probably didn't have any gainful employment they needed to get to instead... He didn't really want to. Didn't want to be obliged, didn't want to ask for a favor, didn't want to be beholden. No-one let you be beholden without reminding you of it every chance they got. He hesitated._

_Seb was watching him. 'Urgent appointment, huh?' he drawled. 'Need a lift? I don't know how long Erik's going to be, you don't want to wait for him.'_

_Charles beamed with relief and gratitude. God bless the guy. However slightly creepy and inappropriate. Different when it was an_ offer _. 'God, could you? That would be fantastic.'_

_'My pleasure.' Seb smiled slowly, and his pleasure seemed genuine._

_'I'll go with,' the girl said eagerly, wiping her mouth and making to jump off her stool._

_'No you won't, Angel,' Seb said. 'No, you won't.'_

_xxx_


	21. Chapter 21

_His car was as fabulous as might reasonably be expected, and Charles was unsurprised. His own seventeenth, eighteenth, nineteenth birthday presents had been automotive upgrades. That was back when he'd been in favor with the APs, of course. Pity he hadn't sold one of them and stashed the cash: nothing like hard currency in a tight spot._

_Conversation amounted to Seb's inquiries about restaurant life and how he liked it. (Answer: he liked keeping the rent paid, and the utilities companies off his back. And making up the difference between Raven's grants and loans, and her actual tuition and living expenses, but that was a) none of Seb's business and b) it wasn't as if he'd be really interested anyway.) And there was some veiled kidding about his night with Erik. There seemed no malice in it, and Charles took it in good part. But his heart sang when they arrived at the station in good time. A decent kip and a casual lay, all very well: but family, the most solid affection he knew, the person who might conceivably, if he had to go to her, take him in... Nothing compared to that._

_His thanks were hurried and even rudimentary – he couldn't help it. He wanted to see Raven so bad. It had been so long, he thought, as he ran through the ticket office and there, there she was, bright and vibrant and real. Her hair was a new crazy shade, but altogether she was still Raven, as he picked her up and swung her around and heard her laugh, the laugh that had made his childhood bearable._

_Xxx_

_Two days, and it wasn't even as if Erik even thought Seb was automatically_ wrong _. The ass just had no_ tact _. He honestly couldn't see when you just_ didn't want to hear it.


	22. Chapter 22

_They sat out on the grass and watched Az and Angel fight it out on the tennis court -- who could be worst, the least threat for the French Open. Even using his tail, Az was trailing. Seb still wouldn't let it drop, even though Erik had been ignoring him for a while now. He was tired of it. The girl was Charles'_ sister _. It had been_ established _. 'You know the thing with stray cats, man,' Seb said. 'You take them home, you feed them, you think they're your pet. And all the time eight other people are feeding them too. Or fucking them, and then you think you're in love, and they think they've found a complete sucker and they've won the lottery. How's it feel to be a winning ticket?_

 _Erik didn't know exactly what he wanted to be, but he knew he didn't want to be right there listening to Seb's opinions right then. It could all be perfectly innocent after all. Almost certainly was._ Seb _didn't know. So he turned his back and made for the door. His bedroom. His cellphone._

_xxx_

_Raven propped herself up on one elbow, blanket creased and grass-laden beneath her, and rummaged through the lockbox that was serving them as a picnic basket. Charles watched her from underneath his hand, where he was shielding himself from the sun, lying on his back. As the wind changed he felt a faint spray from the park fountain, thought about moving them to a more handy spot. Then thought again, as his phone buzzed._

_Raven giggled. 'Again? Hot stuff, that's a conquest and a half. How many times now? Hey, you've eaten all the chocolate rolls, piggy.'_

_'You helped. A lot,' Charles pointed out, and examined his phone, wondering about whether to pick up the call._

_'Don't be so bloody rude,' Raven advised him. 'You can't just fuck and run_ all _the time, you know. You did give him your number.'_

_'Didn't, actually,' Charles said, still staring at the screen, reading 'Lehnsherr – Erik'. (How many Lehnsherr's did he think Charles knew?) 'He must have had a skim through my phone after I was asleep: nicked my number and programmed his into my phone.'_

_'Determined,' Raven said appreciatively. 'Isn't it nice to be_ very truly run after? _'_

_'I suppose,' Charles said, with a sigh. 'I just don't have time for this.' He picked up anyway, though. Raven lounged and watched, grinning._

_'Erik, hello.' She moved to get closer, pressing her ear up against the phone, but Charles gently pushed her away, so she could only get one side of a very interesting negotiation. 'Hmm. Yes, sorry about that.' Pause. 'Yes, still with my sister.' Burble. Pause. 'Well, she's leaving in the morning, I don't really want to miss any time with her. Yes, sweet isn't it,' he said smiling. Raven pulled the sappy face she usually reserved for lolcats, and leaned against him, snuggling._

_Pause. 'Yes. Maybe next time.' Raven started digging at his belly with a poking index finger, her wordless form of protest. Then not so wordless._


	23. Chapter 23

_'I want to meet him, want to meet him, want to MEET HIM,' she hissed, as Charles continued to talk._

_'Okay, I'll see you then. Yes, me too,' he said, finishing the conversation, and finishing ignoring her._

_'Me TOO?' she pounced, riveted. 'You WHAT too? You love you too, you love him, you_ love _him, will I look nice in pink for the bridesmaid's outfits?' she demanded. He patted her hair, and his lips twitched._

_'Not if you're that shade. And where's the bloody sunblock, you still haven't put any on.' She kept trying out a new burnt sienna shade instead of her old reliable blue. It really wasn't flattering, but he wasn't going to be the one to tell her._

_'Don't need it, love,' she said patiently. 'UV can't get through the scales. How often must I tell you?_

_xxx_

_Two weeks, and Seb was pushing on the 'socially appropriate fuck-receptacle' issue. Erik would have really liked to designate it as purely social snobbery, and to have been able to disregard it on that basis. He wasn't quite sure: it wasn't quite that._

_Seb was prejudiced against Charles – admitted it - because, hey, 'It's not as if he's even some blue-collar grafter who's aiming to set up his own restaurant or some business. He's just_ drifting _, man, just a day-to-dayer, waiting for his ship to come in and it's_ never gonna. _He only breaks a sweat to make beer money. I'm not a snob, no-one here's an aristo except Em and she's not even_ here _. But some people are born to be peons unless they marry up, man. He's one of them. Jeez, isn't he European? College fees are_ peanuts _there, man, aren't they all still pinkos with health and education handouts? He should have made enough to go back by now if he's ever gonna: being a college drop-out is his nice story to make a mug like you feel bad for him, and not too embarrassed to date him. Probably the only reason he made tuition for a couple of semesters. Evolutionary terms: he's not fit enough to survive unless he finds an alpha mate. And he thinks he has. Are you gonna prove him right?'_


	24. Chapter 24

_Erik sat in an over-priced upscale bar, and listened to the over-familiar, brotherly hints, more than hints: the continual stream of them. He wished he was with Charles instead: but Charles worked every hour God sent, whereas Seb's daddy thought pushing one's prep-schoolly prodigy into law school and self-sufficiency was liable to be counter-productive in the long run._

_Erik was fairly sure Seb's assessment was wrong. He was also pretty sure that even if Seb was right, hey, he_ didn't care. _He could support a non-productive spouse. He could. He_ could _. He seemed to repeat it to himself a lot, it had got to be a mantra. What kind of position was he in to judge? His allowance since he was seventeen could support a middle-class family, entire. It wasn't like he was a blue-collar trucker, or even had to fight and sweat in the arena for his trainee management post. 'Management': code for the boss's son, for the CEO-to-be. Sometimes he said he didn't even_ care _, it wasn't even an_ issue _, there were more important things like_ compatibility _and someone who'd make you_ laugh till you fell out of bed _, like being touched with a gentleness and then a force that pushed everything else out of your heart and mind: but that didn't get repeated so often._

 _Mostly he wished Seb would shut up, stop shaking at the trunk of this strong sturdy new growing thing. If he was fucking up, couldn't he be allowed to just fuck up in peace? He was_ happy _: was that so bad?_

 _Mostly he wished Charles would_ talk _to him more. Charles talked about anything and everything: but the moment it mattered, he clammed up. Charles seemed always to have a foot out the door, like Erik had better_ not _say the wrong thing. Treated him like he was amusing and attractive and ridiculous, like he had_ no idea. _The thing was, Erik knew he had no idea: at least he knew that much. Knew he was a nice rich boy being indulged, while Charles rolled his eyes and thought him an oblivious fool._


	25. it is much easier to conceal sadness from a stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the awesome Toshikazu Kawaguchi's phenomenally brilliant 'Before the Coffee Gets Cold.'

_Still, they were happy enough that he didn't want to rock the boat._

_But the guy was sharper than a razor-blade at the bottom of a glass: too sharp to take anything for granted. All his friends, his good buddies, he didn't mind helping them out. With money, when their allowances got cut off. With tuition when their grades hit crisis point. Somewhere to sleep, a shoulder to cry on, tough-minded advice or soft sympathy, whatever the situation called for._

_All his rich kid friends, none of them had a damn idea. If it wasn't for entrenched privilege and hardass immigrant grandparents, none of them would survive, if Darwin had anything to say about it._

_Charles, though, wasn't like that, couldn't be. Erik might be a soft lily-skinned rich kid himself, but his father and mothers' stories: about setting up the business, about Grandpa getting out of Germany, about the tattoo on his wrist: were enough for him to at least understand it. Someone like Charles, pulling double shifts, working till he could drop, surviving by his own wits and skills: he understood things Erik's pals couldn't, except in the most lightly pencilled theory. However unimpressed the likes of Seb might be. Seb,_ son of toil, grafter: _Erik forced a laugh. Erik felt like respect was half of love, had seen it in Mamma and Pops, in his G-Ps. Or maybe he was rationalizing why what was, was._

_Maybe it was blue eyes after all. There were probably worse reasons._

_xxx_

_It was easy, Charles' regular everyday life. A while back, give it two months, and he wouldn't have thought so. But damn it, at least he had the eternal verities to rely on. Logan would give him shit about....everything. Customers, bookings, stuff like plating speed and sickness rates that he didn't have a fucking iota of control over. And then he'd stick a bonus in Charles' pay-packet most months, knowing he was earning it, going the extra mile, and needed it._

_Sean would be obsessed with weed and operatic thrashy heavy metal, and was going to die a virgin with lung cancer. Janos would devote himself to a hectic social life, while treating the job as an amusing hobby. Charles would work enough hours that it made life easy, in terms of there being no decisions to be made: work, sleep, eat, work, sleep, eat, work, sleep. A day off, call Raven, hang out, think of doing something productive, sleep. Look at grad school, doctoral programs, look at tuition fees, think about his life being on hold for the next five, ten... fifteen?... years. Crack a beer, feel a prickle of tears and hate and nausea, say 'Fuck it'... Call up Janos and Sean, drink and play console games and waste, waste, waste the tiny amount of discretionary time he had._


	26. Chapter 26

_But now there was Erik, a horrible, horrible, wonderful complication._

_xxx_

_He'd never thought the day would come he'd resent getting woken up with a blow-job. But here it was all the same. Drifting up out of sleep, he was aware of a concentrated focus that resolved itself to his groin. His eyes pinged open and he knew,_ knew _what he was going to see. Duvet pushed away from his chilled thighs, and Erik's head – oh, for the Lord's sweet sake, not even at the_ delicate attentions _stage. Erik's mouth clamped down, the suction like something powered by a magneto, steadily travelling up and down the length of Charles's dick in a way designed to wipe out all dissent. Not even any eye contact; Erik was so focused on the job at hand he had nothing left over for an intimate personal touch. One large hand sprawled and pressed over Charles' belly, catching at the indents either side of his navel, middle finger dipping into it. Tickling, as Charles felt his suckling answered by a rush of heat and tingling, his cock saying_ yes yes yes, _even as he said an emphatic_ no no no.

 _He reached and slapped Erik's head to one side: not too hard. 'Erik. We've talked about this.' Excusable if he was a little breathless. The light in the room was bright, too bright. It was much too late in the day, and he knew full well why. 'You've turned off my alarm, haven't you? You've turned off my_ fucking alarm. _Again.' His hips juddered, cock ramming a little further into Erik's thinned wet lips, without consulting either of them. Meaty shoulders just shrugged, and he could just, at this angle, make out the crease of an eye, the tensing of a cheek muscle in an understandably wordless grin._


	27. Chapter 27

_He wanted – half-wanted – to just shove Erik off, and be off doing what he needed to be doing. But his cock was saying no no_ no _, and as he hesitated – and Erik didn't, working frantically like pistons, wheels on a train track – he felt the throb, the final surge that informed him flatly that he wasn't going anywhere 'cause this had gone too far not to get finished. So he smacked the bastard one more time – just so he knew the discussion_ wasn't over _– and Erik heaved around, writhed and moaned. Like he liked it, the fucker._

 _Charles threw one leg over Erik's shoulder, pressing, keeping him down, making him work: for once. Then – special occasion – allowed himself a grasp on a lock, then a chunk of hair, as far as a grasp was possible, and gave himself up to it. To the wetness and the suction, that tried to hold and pull an orgasm out of him, going lax, giving way as he pushed fast through it. Then he had just a series of impressions – white ceiling, shade, breeze, sunlight, muffled grunts and maybe curses from Erik, sucking harder and yes, sucking_ it _out of him. One final protest swelled up out of him, oh fuck no 'cause this was_ too much, _wiping his mind, all of him flooding into all of Erik. And then he gave up all control, and let it go as it would. He hardly knew what he was, except loud and punching the mattress and unable to hold back. Loud, especially, as cum jetted out of him. Jerking, twitching, coming back to himself, he was wet and suddenly cold as Erik pulled off, looking up with a smug quirk of the brow. There were scratches on his neck. Charles had put them there: couldn't remember it, or anything much. Erik asked the main point at issue, but couldn't do it with perfect_ sang froid _. His breath failed him a little as he wiped his mouth._

_'Did your shields hold?'_

_Charles shrugged, limp, drained. 'We don't ask, we don't tell. Anyone came in their pants, I don't want to know, do you?' The thought that he was angry – only briefly wiped out – came back to him, and he pushed himself off the bed, paused a minute. No time for a shower: but Marie's retail outlet wasn't the sort of place he could possibly turn up without one. Later than ever, then._ Fuck _Erik. Metaphorically._

 _His shoulder was caught as he took a first step to the_ ensuite _, naked and livid in every tense line of his body. ' Don't be mad.'_

 _He paused, willing to listen but not willing to look at Erik. Still he was dragged back into a hug, Erik's chin resting hard and angular on his shoulder. Uncomfortable and unavoidable and insistent. 'Yeah, I've been bad.' Erik's voice thrummed against his back. 'So give me a smack, think up a punishment. Don't give me the_ silent treatment.'


	28. Chapter 28

_It might have been mistaken for surrender, the way he relaxed and sank back. 'You can't keep doing this, Erik. Sabotaging my job. I don't exist just for your amusement and so you have something to fill your time, in your last summer before you knuckle down and accept you're an adult. You're fucking with my livelihood and you think it's not a big deal: but to me it is. And my opinion on that is the one that matters.'_

_He got a longer silence in response than he expected. But finally, 'I just hate to see you so tired,' Erik said quietly. 'Then to get up in the morning and do it all again.'_

_Way to punch through his defenses. He couldn't quite be as angry as he felt he ought to be, when he said, 'That's still not your decision to make. What if I lost my job over this?' He tried to pull away: but wasn't allowed. And didn't fight enough. He felt, almost, a little bit loved. Really, it was unforgivable._

_'What if you did?' Erik's tone was turning mulish: the exact note Charles found least attractive on him. His grip was tighter still. 'Logan's an asshole: I've heard the way he talks to you, all of you. I doubt his girlfriend's much better. What if either one fired you: so what? I can carry you for a while, it's not a problem. Give you time to find something better.'_

_Or: the word hung in the air, and Charles sighed. It wasn't like there hadn't been hulking great red flags up, warning that this showdown was coming at some point. Erik acted like it was a competition to be the one who picked up every bill, acted innocent when inappropriate presents turned up. (And not in the embarrassing-online-purchase kind of way (always). More in the_ Christ, what kind of bite does that take out of someone's balance _kind of way.)_

 _Keeping him on a leash was getting harder. Charles might have to resort to a_ real _one._

 _He felt the breath on his neck, and knew the rest of it was coming. Or. Or why don't you just go back to college, I'll pick up the tab, why don't you. Why_ don't _you._ It's not a problem.

_When your boyfriend is putting you through college he's not really technically your boyfriend any more, Charles thought. There's another word for it._


	29. Chapter 29

_'Logan's not a bad guy,' he said, a transparent distraction. But he could feel Erik was roiling and simmering enough to be easily distracted._

_'You always stand up for him,' Erik said, a bit too vehement. 'But I've_ heard _him.'_

_Charles shrugged. 'You've heard him under pressure, carrying the whole kitchen on his shoulders. That's how chefs are. You never seen Anthony Bourdain? t's how he is when the last customer leaves that counts. We go way back. He's okay.'_

_Erik didn't say a thing. Charles just felt the increased pressure, wondered about his ribs. 'Christ. If Logan was any more hetero, he'd go round in a circle and come out the other side as gay. Forget it, man: and, Erik, this has to stop._ This _. You're fucking with my life and you're not consulting me first. Stop it.'_

 _He pulled out of Erik's arms, but as he headed for the shower, Erik called after him. Then just outright followed him. He had his back turned and was busy not listening: but really, who could_ not _listen? 'Love. I know you don't want to hear it: but I have to say. You're pulling junior doctor hours with no long-term benefit. You're wasting your brain. You talk about going back to finish your undergrad, but there's never anything other than talk. The hours you work... I don't know where your money goes but it seems like it's sometime never. I just want to...'_

_Yeah, the college thing was due right about now. Charles stepped in and turned the shower up harder, faster. This wasn't anything he wanted to hear._

_Nothing he wanted to be tempted by._

_xxx_

_Of course, there was the upside. Although he might not have recognized it as that, face down in Erik's bed with a throbbing, queasily pulsing migraine, pink and yellow, a Sunday July afternoon with two hours before he was due in to work._

_Tea, he thought, whispering even inside his own head. Erik would bring it. He felt along his shields, tracing the parts he struggled to find a visual or verbal counterpart for: no way to explain to a non-telepath. Better than they had been: mostly holding. If they didn't hold then he was pretty fucked for tonight._

_It wasn't Erik who brought up the tea, though, but Moira. He could detect the difference, in thoughts, in the habitual shape of ruminations, without seeing her come in. Nice Moira, he thought vaguely. Sean's throbbing pash for the shapely ass-kicking amazon still unrequited, sadly: he'd have to put in a good word._

_'Thanks,' he whispered, and found himself utterly incapable of more._


	30. Chapter 30

_'Don't thank me,' she said, her voice light and cool, soft enough to be deliberately considerate. 'You're not getting the tea until you've done me a favor.'_

_'Uummmgh?' Really. Best he could do._

_There was a rustle beside him on the bedside cabinet, a sheaf of A4 papers she laid down. ' Give me your signature, you get your tea.' There was an enticing slosh: his whole being yearned for that mug. Effortfully he formed a few words, but enunciating them all clearly was a bit much. '… is it?'_

_'Health insurance. Better than anything you've got. Put your name down, Erik'll have you covered for the next five years. You can get some decent suppressants, instead of running on willpower and your own shields the whole time.'_

_He nudged his face a bit further into the pillow, unable to tell her what he thought of that. He did think of pushing a few choice opinions into her head without the benefit of his vocal cords, but really... his head was close enough to grinding itself into mince as it was._

_'Oh shut up,' she returned. Maybe the line of his back was enough to express it. 'It's me here, because you'll argue longer with him. Plus I have a lot less patience. Listen: pride's one thing and pragmatism's another. You can't afford to be sick like this all the time. The way you work, I'm guessing you have plans that mean you_ really _can't afford it. Well. Be less of a fool, then. Sometimes you have to accept a favor. Even if it sticks in your craw. And it'll make him happy, which concerns me more. It makes him sick to see you sick._ Sign the fucking papers. _If it's not done when I come back, I might find myself shaking your shoulders to see if you're awake. How'll that feel, hmm?'_

_The mug was dumped down, next to the paperwork, and steps echoed out of the room. He was really too sick to be angry, or indignant, or proud or anything. The only reason it took him five minutes to ease up and reach for the pen, was because he thought he might actually puke if he didn't take that time._


	31. Chapter 31

_***_

_Sean walked away from him, laughing, and he was confused. 'What's so funny?' The kitchen cleaner was on holiday so they'd got double duty on, restaurant closed: both industrial dishwashers going, he was going through the fridges and Sean started hammering at the industrial cooker tops, grids heavy as a couple of babies each. At least Logan hadn't fucked off, was mucking in even at this late hour as well as giving them double-time: but mysteriously just now had fucked off for a smoke. Mysteriously also, Marie had turned up, murmuring to him out in the alley, inaudible. Gloved and careful and lovely, wary of him and the rest of them as ever._

_Sean's laugh stilled to a quiet lingering murmur and snort, still amused. '_ He's _a brat? Want to repeat that, give me another laugh?'_

 _Charles moved half the just-on-the-verge saladings into freezer boxes for soup, and didn't think it was so funny. 'Well, that's how it is. He can't help it. He's just, a really, really, really nice... brat. A nice brat.' He did laugh, then. 'Can't understand why I can't just phone in sick to suit him whenever he wants to take a day and hop on a plane. Brought me home a couple of turtles and a terrarium, and when I pointed out I had nowhere to put it he said, 'Well if I keep it you'll just have to come over every day.' He keeps making plans for... two years, five years down the road, and saying we'll do_ this _and we can do_ that _...' He stopped. It sounded so nice, harmless, and he was still, he realized now,_ panting _with anger._

_Sean started bashing oven separators onto the stainless steel islands, and turned the speakers on, setting Ozzy busting out through the metal and enamel environment. 'Do the doctors say you'll recover?'_

_Charles was used to_ non-sequiturs. _Some days_ non-sequiturs _were all you got from Sean. He blamed it on the slow brain-cell baking. 'From?' he asked, playing along._


	32. Chapter 32

_'From the brain damage.' Sean set the non-bleach cleaner on the side, and cocked his head, an eye on Charles. 'Leading to the retroactive amnesia. You know, that stops you remembering what a brat_ you _were. Back when you started.'_

 _Oh, it was an outrage. 'I was_ never _a brat.'_

 _'Really? How would you describe it, then?' Sean was grinning, and it couldn't be tolerated. They both knew why, of course. But accurate terminology, semantics, these things are important. He was_ never _a_ brat.

_Sean moved to the coffee machine, and gazed at it, meditative. 'Remember when Logan gave you your duty list? With cleaning out the coffee drip at number one?'_

_'Really. That doesn't count. It was, like, my first day. I think I get a_ get out of jail free _card for my first day.' Charles was willing to be amused. He'd leave defensive for later._

 _'And then,' Sean continued, ignoring him, 'you ignored it, because you thought he had to be pulling your leg. That you couldn't possibly be expected to clean out the coffee drip on a daily basis because, hell,_ what do we have kitchen cleaners for? _Remember how he reamed your delicate over-privileged ass for that, before you got used to working for a living?' The espresso machine was getting a skim over that was a little bit perfunctory: Sean was amusing himself too much to be paying due attention._

_'Shut up.' Charles was pretty sure Sean was exaggerating. Or at least his memory was unreasonably detailed._

_'And that was after he'd loaned you the airfare to get here in the first place, when you didn't want to stay and take a job in New York State.' Sean's amusement died on the vine there, and he shot a sideways look at Charles, who was industriously slicing at the build-up on the defective freezer. The kitchen went quiet for a while._


	33. Chapter 33

_***_

_Such a mamma's boy. He thought it but didn't say it, resting his head on Erik's shoulder as the call home dragged on and on. Not that he didn't sometimes say it too. In fact the temptation was too strong, and he slid up, chest gliding against Erik's bare back, leaving them sitting spooning on the edge of the bed. 'Mamma's boy,' he whispered, and it got him a light slap and a faint grin, as Erik continued talking entirely unperturbed._

_He liked that, Charles thought, that Erik was so unashamed of it, blatant in fact. It was nice to see real family love at work: since barring Raven he'd never experienced it. Even Raven... he rested his head on Erik's shoulder, let his hair flop down. No-one really loves you, including the ones who really should, he reminded himself. Even Raven only loves you as long as it's not difficult. As long as you meet her needs._

_If his feet hadn't been bare as the rest of him he'd have kicked himself. Like he didn't have more sense. He didn't ask too much of people. It was the first rule, formulated before he hit puberty. He expected only as much as he judged they were capable of giving. It takes a basic set of smarts, some love and some trouble to develop into a human being, he thought. He had a ton of the first and plenty of the third. Less said the better otherwise._

_His head hung further. It wasn't so bad, and he took a long burning breath or two, breathing through the... ache. It wasn't as if he did much better himself. He gave a wonderful facsimile of love, even to Raven. Gave what bits of himself he was capable of, so thoroughly warped early on, he'd learned to think of himself as. He was just lucky Daddy had loved him a little bit, as far as he was able to remember, that far back. It was probably what had saved him from being a sociopath._


	34. Chapter 34

_Something about the slackening of his body, the curving of his spine had alerted Erik, who gripped his thigh tight. There was a question in it, even as he continued to gab away, full of endearments and family inquiries and exclamations. Half of it was in German, and Charles struggled to follow, leaning heavily on faint remnants of prep school language classes._

_A little thread of fire ran through Charles, seamed him shoulder to shoulder, forward and cross-ways. He identified it as envy, and felt a bit ashamed. Grudging someone else, especially a friend... It wasn't an attractive character trait. He wanted to be happy for Erik, having this: wanted to be fond and warm. And suddenly, in the wishing it, he was. That twinge eased up: and he hugged tighter, rubbed a hand along Erik's thigh, smiled. He was petted in turn, Erik's hand grasping his, lifting his over and running fingers along life and love lines. And he tuned back into what Erik was saying, the sudden switch into English. Momentarily he was aware of being happy: and tuned out of that again. Why analyse it?_

_'End of August, we're going to Aspen,' Erik was saying. 'No, Mamma, not skiing. I want to go see friends, take Charles with me. But we should be able to stop by afterwards, stop maybe a night or maybe two. Yes, me and Charles.' His mother evidently had things to say about that. Charles held back the irritation, that Erik was talking about tentative speculations as definite plans. It gave him the same twinge of unease he felt whenever Erik paid for something Charles felt he should have contributed towards. Again._

_Erik was still talking. 'You'll love him.' A pause while he listened to something. 'I do.' He touched Charles' hair, hand flicking back, sure in its touch: so light._

_He hadn't said it before. Expressed it, in a number of different ways. But not said it. Even now his eyes didn't meet Charles: still absorbed, chatting to Mamma. That was how he first expressed that he loved Charles._


	35. Chapter 35

Charles had worked it all out a long time ago. He'd come to _terms_. Why would it be Erik, out of admittedly a whole bunch of contenders up to this point, threatening to make him break his own rules, ignore his own precepts? He felt _loved_. So much more the fool him, lining up to be beaten down.

But he wasn't sure it wasn't too late to run. He wanted, bad, to believe. And it was like Erik had snuck in and tied a bit of string between their hearts, some night when he was out cold, shattered and snoring. He needed a little pair of scissors to cut that string. Easier said than done. Maybe elastic, not string. He had a horrible feeling that if he ran, he'd only come bouncing back.

xxx

After the big row he found he could scarcely breathe. The reaction was more than he could understand: seemed all physical. He was quite calm: hadn't he expected most of it, predicted it even? It was just that his body was going crazy. Hyperventilation, sweating like insanity, a roiling in his gut. He had to actually lay down on the floor: this was after Erik had left him curled up in the bedroom, by the wall, and banged out of the house.

He really knew better than to take it to heart like this. It was probably time to accept it had come to the end of the road, this thing of his and Erik's, time to move on. While they could part friends.

He thought about it, and then he had to run – and stumble – and then crawl, and puke into the toilet.


	36. Chapter 36

_Moira had nothing to say when she came in. Her footsteps were slow up the stairs: cautious. He knew perfectly well they had a full house: only Alex was away, finessing some high-level meeting with his mommy's consultancy's out-of-town clients. For a while he thought no-one would come up, dare to say anything. That he was safe from explaining himself, or Erik._

_She just sat beside him, eyes travelling over him, but not even trying to touch his hand. Until she did, and it helped. He didn't let her struggle for the right approach. 'He's upset,' he said. It seemed to cover it._

_She held his hand in both hers, pulled it over to her own knee, examined it. 'Do you love him?' she asked. What an irrelevance._

_She straightened a bit and turned her face away. 'What's the problem?' she asked. 'You know, since you're acting like you want to kill each other every third day. In between making out in the kitchen so everyone's afraid to come in and make a sandwich, for fear of what kind of sight they're going to see. That's except when you're working and he's lying around –- still in the kitchen half the time, head on the island and taking up all available emotional space –- waiting till you turn up to exist again.'_

_He absolutely didn't know what to say, because what? 'It disturbs the rest of us,' she said, after giving it a moment. 'You know... as it would.'_

_'Sorry about that,' he said vaguely, the nausea ebbing a little bit. What else could he offer?_

_She settled down beside him, shuffled and made herself more comfortable. 'You know, if you were looking for a summer fuck then he was really the wrong guy to pick.' She patted his knee. 'Not that he hasn't been through a few. But it's not usually what he's actually looking for. That first day we came into your place, I rather thought he'd found what he was looking for. Which is why you should watch out, really.'_


	37. Chapter 37

_'Why, what's he going to do to me?' Charles asked. He rubbed his hands through his hair, over his face, felt sweaty and disgusting and ill. Even with a double duty dose of the good suppressants –- thanks to Erik –- he felt a slight throb setting up between his temples._

_'Well, not axe-murder you and bury you in the garden,' Moira said. Her smile was sweet and measured, as beautiful a production as everything about her. Most scent would have made him sick about now, but Charles rather wanted to rest his head on her shoulder and sniff in her spicy cinammon--edged cologne. Some man's fancy brand, he'd seen it in her room and it suited her perfectly. 'Although Seb would probably help him, if he did. Maybe put you through school and find you a job and dress you up in pretty things, pretty thing. House you, clothe you, keep you forever. Love you forever, I guess, would be the plan. Put a ring on your finger if you felt like it. How would that suit you, Charles?'_

_He had put his head on her shoulder, without willing it. Man, he was almost out of it. But his head jerked up at this: and when they were eye-to-eye, inches apart and staring, he felt bad. It wasn't really her he was glaring at, after all._


	38. Chapter 38

_'Like that, huh?' she asked. 'I rather thought so. You'd probably better make a run for it, then. Run for your life.' She reached out a finger and touched his chin, pushed his face from side to side and smiled. If he didn't kind of like pushy women, he'd have been annoyed. Raven had him well trained._

_He sucked in a long inhale, and relaxed a little. 'How do you figure?'_

_'Because he's going to wear you down eventually,' she said. Her bright pretty hazel eyes sparkled at him, with health and intellect and force. Dammit, everyone around him so strong and alive, it made him feel more tired than ever. 'Because what he's dangling in front of you all the time is what you want. And he's not going anywhere. And you're human, first impressions to the contrary notwithstanding. In the end you'll give in, and that's the moment you'll be bought and paid for. Not that most people would have a problem with that, given the circumstances.' She examined him, her scrutiny minute. 'But you might be the odd, very odd exception.'_

_She got closer. She was closer, and he was more confused. 'You could always run away with me instead. That'd get the message across in a way he could understand, and there'd be no coming back from it.' It would have been less confusing if he hadn't actually been somewhat attracted to her. Not that he hadn't picked up the odd discomfiting thought from her, before the nice little grey pills had finally kicked in. Slight, fast, fleeting impressions: of his eyes and profile and ass and hands and feet, that came and went. Christ, should a man have to stop wandering barefoot around his boyfriend's rental home because his female buddy has a kink? He'd done his best to ignore them. Every telepath got to know stuff they'd rather not, along the way, shore up their shields as they might. They all got good at screening it out, too. It wasn't as if she ever_ did _anything about it._

_Not till now, and though he really didn't specifically want to be holding Moira's hand, it was still nice to have some human contact. What with Erik being so mad at him and it feeling, stupidly, like the end of the world._


	39. Chapter 39

_'I'm not really one of these guys,' she said, holding his eyes like she was willing him to understand fast, perfectly, through the telepathy he'd gladly disabled. 'I'm one of the gang, but I don't have money. I can barely run with this crowd, but what can you do? You make your pals in college and then you're stuck. I do have contacts, though. I'm qualified and licensed and just sitting out the summer while I wait to start my first year's residency. I sit on panels and I know people who disburse grants and funds. My cousin's buddy dates an Ivy League vice-principal. I have a friend who manages a financial aid fund, the office manager for the work-study program at Columbia went to college with my ma. If there was a gold medal for networking it'd sit on my study shelf. Charles, do you understand what I'm saying?'_

_She kissed him then. He didn't exactly encourage her. He just didn't fight her off. It was practically businesslike: and when she backed off, breathless, she was just as calm as before. 'There's other ways to do this, to get yourself back on track. Ways that don't involve selling your ass, which is only going to fuck with your head extra since you're clearly attached to the guy. Better if it was a simple_ quid pro quo: _but it's not, is it?'_

_He was really too zonked to even – he didn't even know what to say to her. 'You'd be better off with me,' she said. 'Make a clean break, come away with me, we'll work it out.' She kissed him again, and only the sound of breaking china discouraged her at all._

_He really had to admire when they both looked up, and there was Erik in the doorway, having evidently just shoved a display cabinet of the landlord's pretty antique china off the wall. Her eyes shone, and she smiled, hard-faced. 'We're never going to get the bond back now, love. What on earth were you thinking of?'_

_And that was the moment that World War Three kicked off._


	40. Chapter 40

_xxx_

_There was no reason he should feel guilty, about a free afternoon spent hanging out and playing games with Sean. Even if it meant an afternoon not spent with Erik. No reason he shouldn't have failed to make Erik aware he had a free afternoon._

_Except all the_ sturm und drang _that made every smile and every touch dishonest, maybe._

_Everything was okay now. Fixed discussed and reconciled._

_Right._

_Sean spent a good two hours pretending nothing was wrong, and bless him for that. It gave Charles two hours' peace at least. Towards that point Sean got more restless, twitchy, fell into periods of silence where his violence with the console said plenty. Eventually he went and got more beers, sat down heavily on the sofa and handed Charles one. Then just sat there, head hanging, hair a violently bright sheet masking his face. So that was how he managed it, made Charles talk: by being the distressed one._

_Charles shot him a crafty look, back and sideways, and was extremely busted doing it. Sean's hand shot out, jabbed him in the head. 'You'll feel better if you talk about it,' he remarked._

_'_ You'll _feel better if I talk about it,' Charles replied, and killed a rookie cop just because he could. ' I'll feel like shit pretty much the same, but it'll all be out in the open and you'll feel marvellously cleansed and rejuvenated. Can't you just get your colon flushed out instead?'_

_Sean just jabbed at him again, and Charles made a choice between opening up and a hole in the back of his skull. 'Can I just make you a list out? Of all my troubles,' he sighed. 'Send you an email?'_

_'I'm gonna hug you next,' Sean warned. ' That's the next step. Don't fuck with me, man, that's not an empty threat. Unburden yourself. Now.'_

_Charles dumped the controls, drank and sank his head back on the sofa, sighing. 'It's not that bad. You severely over-reacted._


	41. Chapter 41

_Charles dumped the controls, drank and sank his head back on the sofa, sighing. ' It's not that bad. You severely over-reacted.'_

_'Yeah, all right,' Sean said sceptically. 'I just imagined it. You weren't blubbing over the salads Niçoise last night. Not exactly. One or two tears and, fuck it man, your face all red and and you were breathing like... I thought you were having a panic attack or something. I mean I was all ready to call the Moira chickie out. She's qualified right? Professional women, I love 'em. The hotness.'_

_'Okay, we can start there,' Charles said. ' The Moira chickie, you won't be seeing her again.' He squinted up and back at Sean from his spot on the floor, slumping further back into the cushions and looking dejected, even upside down._

_'Okay. Dagnabbit, my usual luck.' Sean waited a minute. 'Please tell me this has nothing to do with your fatal charm.'_

_Charles shrugged and pulled a face._

_'Oh fuck it, man. I'm going to petition the courts to have you put away, on grounds that it's not fair to the rest of us. What, she's run away to have your secret love-child so you can marry your sweetie and be happy ever after in peace?' Sean sounded resigned. It wasn't exactly the first time. Except for the secret love-child bit._


	42. Chapter 42

_"More like she's packed up her stuff and gone, after a screaming row with Erik,' Charles explained. 'After he caught her accidentally sucking my face.'_

_Sean leaned down, mouth to ear, and gave him a look that said he was being **extremely fucking tolerant** , and resulting favors owed would be pulled in at a later date. 'Least it was your _face _, then. And how is that ever accidental, by the way?'_

 _Charles thought about it. 'Well, I was extremely_ surprised _. It wasn't my idea. If you're surprised it's an accident, yes?'_

 _'Not after the first twenty seconds, Charles. How can you be so flip? You're acting like it's nothing. I saw you crying. I know right well it's not nothing.' Sean dragged his legs up, sat cross-legged on the sofa. Impatience was written in every line of his scanty form. 'He dropped you off at work this morning. You're still together, right? He blamed her? A little skeevy there. Exhaustion, confusion and being jumped on only get you so far as an excuse,_ sexy beast _.'_

 _'Blamed her?' Charles let his head sag, rubbed his face and then his eyes. 'Well, they had a stand-up face-to-face screaming row for about eight minutes. So you_ could _say. Lucky it wasn't a guy, I was close enough to a breakdown in the corner as it was. An actual fist-fight would have just about finished the job. Lucky he's a gentleman. Or just worried about Moira's hand to hand skills.'_

 _Sean stared at him, looked away to the fizzing screen and then looked back. ' But you two are okay? I mean, if you want to tell me when you're_ done with the fucking flip? _'_


	43. Chapter 43

_Charles' eyes were closed. 'Semantics. Define your terms. We're together: still. That's after all the yelling and following each other round the house we had for ourselves, after Moira was gone. The verbal abuse and the unpleasantly honest character assassinations. Then he broke up with me. And then he un-broke up with me. Dragged me back into the house as I was leaving. Watched me collect all my stuff first, though. I wonder if he knew he was going to let me off the hook, or if it was a last-minute impulse?' That Erik had been unrecognizably hard-faced. An Erik he didn't know, hadn't ever known. Hadn't known he existed, frankly._

_Scary, but the break in the dam had been more frightening. A broken Erik, bad enough: one he was responsible for, unbearable. The clutching, the holding together that one, before he came apart at the seams... His_ dear one _, apparently. It had been involuntary. Revelatory._

_'And now?' Sean asked. He was fiddling with the console, hitting buttons that didn't seem to do anything._

_'Now we're tippy-toeing round each other,' Charles said drily. 'And I'm crying a lot. Don't know what the hell's wrong with me.'_

_'You're not in touch with your emotions,' Sean diagnosed, serious-faced. 'You're in a whole lot of denial. You're not the only drop-out, man,' he said, at the wry, bad-smell face Charles pulled. I learnt a lot in eighteen months of psychology and music at NYU. I could tell you that you're in love with the guy, but-'_

_'Shut up,' Charles said, rolling his head about with the abandon that a few beers will lend you. 'Shut up, shut up.'_

_'But that, yeah,' Sean agreed. 'Or I could suggest that you just communicate honestly with him, but...'_


	44. Chapter 44

_He waited a moment. Charles opened one eye after a while. 'I **communicate** with him. I told him honestly last week, I'm not wearing a fucking hand-made suit, I don't have occasion to wear it, and if he's going to give a tailor bespoke measurements he could at least get them right. Rolling a measuring tape round my ass while I'm pretending to be asleep is not going to get the job done. I could also have told him that **Xaviers** do not wear items of formal attire not made by the Xavier tailors, patronized by Xavier menfolk for six generations. But I figured he didn't need to hear that.'_

_'Yeah, well this is exactly it,' Sean said in response, dragging stressily at his hair. 'You don't tell him things he needs to know. I mean for instance, that you come from money. If that even fucking expresses it. That you come from enough money to buy the fucking world with the loose change in your pockets.'_

_Charles closed that open eye to a slit. 'And that would... do what exactly?'_

_Sean screwed up his face, so that his freckles decided to conjoin and make his face orange. 'Well. He'd understand, better. Maybe.'_

_Charles reached out and put a hand over his, patted. 'Understand I'm a rich boy, too? That my problems are his problems, that we come from the same place?'_

_'Er...'_


	45. Chapter 45

_'Except we don't, right?' Charles prodded at the remains of his noodles, and decided that one more beer probably had about equivalent nutritional value. 'We're from rather different places. He's a nice nouveau kid whose mommy and daddy think the sun shines out of his ass. And will be removed from the parental teat sometime around senility.'_

_His voice wasn't bitter. You had to listen closely to the words to get it. 'Whereas my forebears came over from France when Louis the whatever was annoying them, switched to England, back to the colonies, a few branches in East Africa... The family money concentrated in the hands of a man whose main pleasure in life is thwarting his step-kids in anything they might seek to pursue. And my old ma, who thinks being gay is something I do to embarrass her, and if I've had three girlfriends then it means I'm just not trying hard enough to find her friends' daughters attractive. Something that seemingly merits being cut out of my own funds by whatever means necessary.'_

_Sean looked curious. 'Did you ever think of going along with the matchmaking?'_

_Charles' voice was sharp. 'Why should I?' And then, 'But yeah. Might've, if I could have found someone I didn't need to feel guilty about. Why can't any of her friends have a nice lesbian sprog I could have a lovely loveless arrangement with?' he sighed. 'You know, she actually said once, 'Dear, if you were utterly homosexual I could make allowances. But if all it takes is the right girl, then I don't see why you can't just be co-operative.''_

_'Wouldn't one of these girls go along for the sake of the Xavier billions?' Sean asked. 'Sorry, it's just the **lifestyles of the rich and famous** bit. You're boggling my mind.'_

_'Doesn't take a lot,' Charles observed. 'The girls... maybe so. It's too late. I was obstinate early on, Ma was overbearing – and drunk, we both got locked into position. Now it's a matter of pride to her that I don't exist any more. Not as far as she acknowledges. And Kurt... maybe it would never have occurred to him, if he hadn't been given my money – my bloody money – to play with. But now he's got it, he's not letting go.'_


	46. Chapter 46

_He sat and ate Cheetos moodily, cheese dust collecting on the pink of his lips. 'You know what they do with it? Sporting events, where they never hit a ball. Social calendar, and they never get up to dance. They don't study, Ma doesn't work, they don't have actual friends – just useful people – Ma never opens a book. Kurt doesn't open a book that doesn't involve vivisection procedures and anaesthetics. The joyless bastards have every cent that's mine, and they don't even enjoy it. Even my Ma's liver hasn't been sacrificed to wine women and song. Just deadening the ennui of her existence. When I think what I could do with it, the use and the pleasure, not even just for me although I think **for me** would be plenty justification...'_

_He swiveled his head sideways, to an angle where he could almost see Sean clear. 'So. It's all over now, baby. I'm not a rich kid any more. What am I going to say to Erik? I could have bought and sold your daddy's business with pocket change, for a few months, if you'd hit me at about the right time just after I turned eighteen? I'm one of you guys, except I'm really not? Because I'm not: I'm really, really not, not any more. It wouldn't be anything except pathetic. What is it, a competition? Trying to operate on equal terms? Seems even Moira couldn't do that, and she's a nice solid middle class girl.'_

_Sean considered a moment, shoveling down noodles. 'Maybe he could help you pay your legal fees? Maybe you could actually get the money back, if you were getting any more than part time advice from a second-rate law school graduate.'_

_Charles shuddered. 'Oh, Christ, don't even give him the idea. Idiotic enough that I'm wasting my own money and time: still worse if he started throwing good money after bad.'_

_'So why are you doing it?' Sean asked. 'Working yourself into the ground for it, at that.'_


	47. Chapter 47

_'Hardly know, at this point,' Charles said. 'I just can't accept it yet. I can't stop myself. But I will, eventually. Eventually I'll have to. It's money that'd better go to paying Raven's tuition, and saving towards mine.' He gave Sean a hard look. 'Another reason to keep quiet about my money problems, and where my money goes. He finds out I'm funding Raven, and he'll try to start supporting **her**. I've just barely put him off the scent with **me** and college.'_

_Sean shuffled away and fixed himself in the corner of the sofa, like he was afraid of the reaction to his next bombshell. 'Sometimes I wonder why you don't just let him. Let him help you.' His face was wary._

_Charles brushed a finger across his lips, then dug nails into his face like it was a stranger: a stranger he didn't like much. 'So do I. Sometimes. So don't push me over the edge. When it all comes tumbling down, so much the worse, the further I've let it go.'_


End file.
